


and we live forever

by TolkienGirl



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Loki just wants to be a god, Mentions of Odin, Norse Mythology - Freeform, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Thor - Freeform, and to be king, et al - Freeform, nbd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods long for nothing. (But Loki is not quite a god.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we live forever

There were golden apples on Iounn’s tree of life, and they shimmered like secrets.

Once, Loki climbed it. Iounn’s tree, Iounn who did not trust him. And it was her apples that held the immortality of the gods.

Loki peered upwards, at the windows of Asgard, and saw no watchful eyes. He ate of the apple, and it was too sweet on his tongue. He threw it down, and it hit the ground like a thunderclap. Loki swayed in the branches of the tree, holding his breath behind his teeth.

For a moment, he thought the tree would cast him down, and he wondered if he would still be a god if it did.

 

Rarely is he afraid, but he is always empty. Empty of hand, empty of heart. Empty in the pit of his stomach, when all eyes turn to Thor.

These are mortal traits, these longings.

Gods long for nothing.

And Loki is a god, is he not?

 

Loki’s hands are always cold. He wilts the flowers and blackens the grass beneath his feet, until Frigga teaches him how to bend the world to his will.

 

Loki has never been happy. He can never quite make out the shape of happiness, his hands and eyes and heart can only trace what is not. What he has not felt, has not held.

Gods long for nothing.

 

He used to creep out at night—though it is always night at the edge of galaxies—and sit at the edge of the Bifrost, dangling his legs over the abyss.

Heimdall never stopped him. He only moved his eyes over Loki and over everything, ageless and all-seeing, and his burnished armor did not make a sound as it rose and fell with his breath.

Loki could see no end and no beginning. Asgard hung suspended like a gem in a necklace of stars, but no maker put it there. Odin is Allfather, but Loki does not think even he knows why the kingdom hangs where it hangs, or why the crown is longed for by some and given to others.

Gods long for nothing.

 

When the cold hand burns round his wrist, he knows.

It hurts most, perhaps, that it still surprises him.

He is not a god, he is a giant. A trickster. Something half-shapen, like the happiness he can never quite grasp.

 

Loki visits realms. Loki visits earth. Earth changes, and it stays the same. A continuity of spirit, if not of flesh. In a way, it strives more strongly for immortality, not binding itself to a single form but taking many. He can see that, in a way the mortals cannot. He can see that, even if he is not quite a god.

 

Not quite a god, but he tasted of the apple.

Not quite a god, but he has tricked them.

Not quite a god, but he can and should be king.

 

Loki clings to the scepter as he always has, as though it can save him. He wonders if its firmness in his weary grasp is the shape of happiness, or if it is something else. Thor loves him, and Odin hates him, and they are both above them.

And Loki _longs—_

But gods long for nothing.

 

Loki is swinging over the Bifrost, Loki is gazing at the stars from the highest parapet of Asgard, Loki is shaking at the top of the apple tree.

He always wondered what it would feel like to fall.


End file.
